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University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


POEMS 


BY 


PRANCES  E.  W.  HARPER 


PHILADELPHIA: 
1006  BAINBRIDGE  STREET 

1896 


Copyrighted,  1895,  by 
FRANCES   E.   W.   HARPER. 


QEORQE    8.    FERGUSON    CO., 
PRINTERS  AND    ELECTROTYPERS. 


Whereas  thou  hast  been  forsaken  and  hated,  so 
that  no  man  went  through  thee,  I  will  make  thee  an 
eternal  excellency,  a  joy  of  many  generations. — 
ISAIAH  60  :  15. 


1006  Bainbridge  Street, 
Philadelphia,  Pa. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

My  Mother's  Kiss 1 

A  Grain  of  Sand 3 

The  Crocuses 4 

The  Present  Age 6 

Dedication  Poem  .........     9 

A  Double  Standard 12 

Our  Hero 15 

The  Dying  Bondman 17 

A  Little  Child  Shall  Lead  Them 19 

The  Sparrow's  Fall 21 

God  Bless  Our  Native  Land 23 

Dandelions 24 

The  Building 25 

Home,  Sweet  Home 26 

The  Pure  in  Heart  Shall  See  God 28 

He  Had  Not  Where  to  Lay  His  Head          .         .         .         .30 

Go  Work  in  My  Vineyard 31 

Renewal  of  Strengtli    ........  33 

Jamie's  Puzzle 34 

Truth 3fi 

Death  of  the  Old  Sea  King 38 

Save  the  Boys 40 

(V) 


vi  CONTENTS, 

PAGfi 

Nothing  and  Something ,        .  42 

Vashti 44 

Thank  God  for  Little  Children 47 

The  Martyr  of  Alabama 49 

The  Night  of  Death 53 

Mother's  Treasures 56 

The  Refiner's  Gold 58 

A  Story  of  the  Rebellion 60 

Burial  of  Sarah -61 

Going  East 63 

The  Hermit's  Sacrifice 66 

Songs  for  the  People    .  -  69 

Let  the  Light  Enter 71 

An  Appeal  to  My  Country  Women 72 


MY  MOTHER'S  Kiss. 

My  mother's  kiss,  my  mother's  kiss, 

I  feel  its  impress  now  ; 
As  in  the  bright  and  happy  days 

She  pressed  it  on  rny  brow. 

You  say  it  is  a  fancied  thing. 
Within  my  memory  fraught ; 

To  me  it  has  a  sacred  place — 
The  treasure  house  of  thought. 

Again,  I  feel  her  fingers  glide 

Amid  my  clustering  hair; 
I  see  the  love-light  in  her  eyes, 

When  all  my  life  was  fair. 

Again,  I  hear  her  gentle  voice 

In  warning  or  in  love. 
How  precious  was  the  faith  that  taught 

My  soul  of  things  above. 

(i) 


MY  MOTHER'S  KISS. 

The  music  of  her  voice  is  stilled, 

Her  lips  are  paled  in  death. 
As  precious  pearls  I'll  clasp  her  words 

Until  my  latest  breath. 

The  world  has  scattered  round  my  path 
Honor  and  wealth  and  fame  ; 

But  naught  so  precious  as  the  thoughts 
That  gather  round  her  name. 

And  friends  have  placed  upon  my  hrow 

The  laurels  of  renown  ; 
But  she  first  taught  me  how  to  wear 

My  manhood  as  a  crown. 

My  hair  is  silvered  o'er  with  age, 

I'm  longing  to  depart ; 
To  clasp  again  my  mother's  hand, 

And  be  a  child  at  heart. 

To  roam  with  her  the  glory-land 
Where  saints  and  angels  greet ; 

To  cast  our  crowns  with  songs  of  love 
At  our  Redeemer's  feet. 


A   GRAIN  OF  SAND. 

A  GRAIN  OF  SAND. 

Do  you  see  this  grain  of  sand 
Lying  loosely  in  my  hand  ? 
Do  you  know  to  me  it  brought 
Just  a  simple  loving  thought? 
When  one  gazes  night  by  night 
On  the  glorious  stars  of  light, 
Oh  how  little  seems  the  span 
Measured  round  the  life  of  man. 

Oh  !  how  fleeting  are  his  years 
With  their  smiles  and  their  tears ; 
Can  it  be  that  God  does  care 
For  such  atoms  as  we  are  ? 
Then  outspake  this  grain  of  sand 
"  I  was  fashioned  by  His  hand 
In  the  star  lit  realms  of  space 
I  was  made  to  have  a  place. 

"  Should  the  ocean  flood  the  world, 
Were  its  mountains  'gainst  me  hurled, 
All  the  force  they  could  employ 
Wouldn't  a  single  grain  destroy  ; 
And  if  I,  a  thing  so  light, 
Have  a  place  within  His  sight ; 
You  are  linked  unto  his  throne 
Cannot  live  nor  die  alone. 


THE  CROCUSES. 

In  the  everlasting  arms 
Mid  life's  dangers  and  alarms 
Let  calm  trust  your  spirit  fill ; 
Know  He's  God,  and  then  be  still.1 
Trustingly  I  raised  my  head 
Hearing  what  the  atom  said  ; 
Knowing  man  is  greater  far 
Than  the  brightest  sun  or  star. 


THE  CROCUSES. 

They  heard  the  South  wind  sighing 

A  murmur  of  the  rain  ; 
And  they  knew  that  Earth  was  longing 

To  see  them  all  again. 

While  the  snow-drops  still  were  sleeping 

Beneath  the  silent  sod  ; 
They  felt  their  new  life  pulsing 

Within  the  dark,  cold  clod. 

Not  a  daffodil  nor  daisy 
Had  dared  to  raise  its  head; 

Not  a  fairhaired  dandelion 
Peeped  timid  from  its  bed ; 


THE  CROCUSES. 

Though  a  tremor  of  the  winter 
Did  shivering  through  them  run  ; 

Yet  they  lifted  up  their  foreheads 
To  greet  the  vernal  sun. 

And  the  sunbeams  gave  them  welcome, 

As  did  the  morning  air — 
And  scattered  o'er  their  simple  robes 

Rich  tints  of  beauty  rare. 

Soon  a  host  of  lovely  flowers 
From  vales  and  woodland  burst ; 

But  in  all  that  fair  procession 
The  crocuses  were  first. 

First  to  weave  for  Earth  a  chaplet 

To  crown  her  dear  old  head  ; 
And  to  beautify  the  pathway 

Where  winter  still  did  tread. 

And  their  loved  and  white  haired  mother 
Smiled  sweetly  'neath  the  touch, 

When  she  knew  her  faithful  children 
Were  loving  her  so  much. 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 
THE  PRESENT  AGE. 

Say  not  the  age  is  hard  and  cold — 

I  think  it  brave  and  grand  ; 
When  men  of  diverse  sects  and  creeds 

Are  clasping  hand  in  hand. 

The  Parsee  from  his  sacred  fires 

Beside  the  Christian  kneels ; 
And  clearer  light  to  Islam's  eyes 

The  word  of  Christ  reveals. 

The  Brahmin  from  his  distant  home 
Brings  thoughts  of  ancient  lore  ; 

The  Bhuddist  breaking  bonds  of  caste 
Divides  mankind  no  more. 

The  meek-eyed  sons  of  far  Cathay 
Are  welcome  round  the  board  ; 

Not  greed,  nor  malice  drives  away 
These  children  of  our  Lord. 

And  Judah  from  whose  trusted  hands 

Came  oracles  divine ; 
Now  sits  with  those  around  whose  hearts 

The  light  of  God  doth  shine. 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 

Japan  unbars  her  long  sealed  gates 

From  islands  far  away  ; 
Her  sons  are  lifting  up  their  eyes 

To  greet  the  coming  day. 

The  Indian  child  from  forests  wild 
Has  learned  to  read  and  pray  ; 

The  tomahawk  and  scalping  knife 
From  him  have  passed  away. 

From  centuries  of  servile  toil 

The  Negro  finds  release, 
And  builds  the  fanes  of  prayer  and  praise 

Unto  the  God  of  Peace. 

England  and  Russia  face  to  face 

With  Central  Asia  meet; 
And  on  the  far  Pacific  coast, 

Chinese  and  natives  greet. 

Crusaders  once  with  sword  and  shield 

The  Holy  Land  to  save ; 
From  Moslem  hands  did  strive  to  clutch 

The  dear  Redeemer's  grave. 

A  battle  greater,  grander  far 
Is  for  the  present  age ; 


THE  PRESENT  AGE. 

A  crusade  for  the  rights  of  man 
To  brighten  history's  page. 

Where  labor  faints  and  bows  her  head, 
And  want  consorts  with  crime ; 

Or  men  grown  faithless  sadly  say 
That  evil  is  the  time. 

There  is  the  field,  the  vantage  ground 

For  every  earnest  heart ; 
To  side  with  justice,  truth  and  right 

And  act  a  noble  part. 

To  save  from  ignorance  and  vice 
The  poorest,  humblest  child  ; 

To  make  our  age  the  fairest  one 
On  which  the  sun  has  smiled  ; 

To  plant  the  roots  of  coming  years 

In  mercy,  love  and  truth  ; 
And  bid  our  weary,  saddened  earth 

Again  renew  her  youth. 

Oh  !  earnest  hearts  !  toil  on  in  hope, 
'Till  darkness  shrinks  from  light ; 

To  fill  the  earth  with  peace  and  joy, 
Let  youth  and  age  unite ; 


DEDICATION  POEM. 

To  stay  the  floods  of  sin  and  shame 
That  sweep  from  shore  to  shore  ; 

And  furl  the  banners  stained  with  blood, 
'Till  war  shall  be  no  more. 

Blame  not  the  age,  nor  think  it  full 

Of  evil  and  unrest ; 
But  say  of  every  other  age, 

"  This  one  shall  be  the  best." 

The  age  to  brighten  every  path 

By  sin  and  sorrow  trod  ; 
For  loving  hearts  to  usher  in 

The  commonwealth  of  God. 


DEDICATION   POEM. 

Dedication  Poem  on  the  reception  of  the  annex  to 
the  home  for  aged  colored  people,  from  the  bequest  of 
Mr.  Edward  T.  Parker. 

Outcast  from  her  home  in  Syria 
In  the  lonely,  dreary  wild ; 

Heavy  hearted,  sorrow  stricken, 
Sat  a  mother  and  her  child. 


10  DEDICATION  POEM. 

There  was  not  a  voice  to  cheer  her 
Not  a  soul  to  share  her  fate ; 

She  was  weary,  he  was  fainting, — 
And  life  seemed  so  desolate. 

Far  away  in  sunny  Egypt 

Was  lone  Hagar's  native  land  ; 

Where  the  Nile  in  kingly  bounty 
Scatters  bread  with  gracious  hand. 

In  the  tents  of  princely  Abram 
She  for  years  had  found  a  home ; 

Till  the  stern  decree  of  Sarah 
Sent  her  forth  the  wild  to  roam. 

Hour  by  hour  she  journeyed  onward 

From  the  shelter  of  their  tent, 
Till  her  footsteps  slowly  faltered 
And  the  water  all  was  spent; 

Then  she  veiled  her  face  in  sorrow, 
Feared  her  child  would  die  of  thirst; 

Till  her  eyes  with  tears  so  holden 
Saw  a  sparkling  fountain  burst. 

Oh  1  how  happy  was  that  mother, 
What  a  soothing  of  her  pain ; 


DEDICATION  POEM. 

When  she  saw  her  child  reviving, 
Life  rejoicing  through  each  vein 

Does  not  life  repeat  this  story, 

Tell  it  over  day  by  day  ? 
Of  the  fountains  of  refreshment 

Ever  springing  by  our  way. 

Here  is  one  by  which  we  gather, 
On  this  bright  and  happy  day, 

Just  to  bask  beside  a  fountain 
Making  gladder  life's  highway. 

Bringing  unto  hearts  now  aged 

Who  have  borne  life's  burdens  long, 

Such  a  gift  of  love  and  mercy 
As  deserves  our  sweetest  song. 

Such  a  gift  that  even  heaven 
May  rejoice  with  us  below, 

If  the  pure  and  holy  angels 
Join  us  in  our  joy  and  woe. 

May  the  memory  of  the  giver 
In  this  home  where  age  may  rest, 

Float  like  fragrance  through  the  ages, 
Ever  blessing,  ever  blest. 


12  A   DOUBLE  STANDARD. 

When  the  gates  of  pearl  are  opened 
May  we  there  this  friend  behold, 

Drink  with  him  from  living  fountains, 
Walk  with  him  the  streets  of  gold. 

When  life's  shattered  cords  of  music 
Shall  again  be  sweetly  sung  ; 

Then  our  hearts  with  life  immortal, 
Shall  be  young,  forever  young. 


A  DOUBLE  STA^7DARD. 

Do  you  blame  me  that  I  loved  him  ? 

If  when  standing  all  alone 
I  cried  for  bread  a  careless  world 

Pressed  to  my  lips  a  stone. 

Do  you  blame  me  that  I  loved  him, 
That  my  heart  beat  glad  and  free, 

When  he  told  me  in  the  sweetest  tones 
He  loved  but  only  me  ? 

Can  you  blame  me  that  I  did  not  see 

Beneath  his  burning  kiss 
The  serpent's  wiles,  nor  even  hear 

The  deadly  adder  hiss  ? 


A   DOUBLE  STANDARD.  j? 

Can  you  blame  me  that  my  heart  grew  cold 
That  the  tempted,  tempter  turned  ; 

When  he  was  feted  and  caressed 
And  I  was  coldly  spurned  ? 

Would  you  blame  him,  when  you  draw  from 
me 

Your  dainty  robes  aside, 
If  he  with  gilded  baits  should  claim 

Your  fairest  as  his  bride  ? 

Would  you  blame  the  world  if  it  should  press 

On  him  a  civic  crown  ; 
And  see  me  struggling  in  the  depth 

Then  harshly  press  me  down? 

Crime  has  no  sex  and  yet  to-day 

I  wear  the  brand  of  shame; 
Whilst  he  amid  the  gay  and  proud 

Still  bears  an  honored  name. 

Can  you  blame  me  if  I've  learned  to  think 

Your  hate  of  vice  a  sham, 
When  you  so  coldly  crushed  me  down 

And  then  excused  the  man  ? 

Would  you  blame  me  if  to-morrow 
The  coroner  should  say, 


A  DOUBLE  STANDARD. 

A  wretched  girl,  outcast,  forlorn, 
Has  thrown  her  life  away  ? 

Yes,  blame  me  for  my  downward  course, 

But  oh  !  remember  well, 
Within  your  homes  you  press  the  hand 

That  led  me  down  to  hell. 

I'm  glad  God's  ways  are  not  our  ways, 

He  does  not  see  as  man ; 
Within  His  love  I  know  there's  room 

For  those  whom  others  ban. 

I  think  before  His  great  white  throne, 
His  throne  of  spotless  light, 

That  whited  sepulchres  shall  wear 
The  hue  of  endless  night. 

That  I  who  fell,  and  he  who  sinned, 
Shall  reap  as  we  have  sown ; 

That  each  the  burden  of  his  loss 
Must  bear  and  bear  alone. 

No  golden  weights  can  turn  the  scale 

Of  justice  in  His  sight ; 
And  what  is  wrong  in  woman's  life 

In  man's  cannot  be  right. 


OUR  HERO.  15 

OUR  HERO. 

Onward  to  her  destination, 

O'er  the  stream  the  Hannah  sped, 

When  a  cry  of  consternation 

Smote  and  chilled  our  hearts  with  dread. 

Wildly  leaping,  madly  sweeping, 

All  relentless  in  their  sway, 
Like  a  band  of  cruel  demons 

Flames  were  closing  'round  our  way 

Oh  !  the  horror  of  those  moments  ; 

Flames  above  and  waves  below — 
Oh  !  the  agony  of  ages 

Crowded  in  one  hour  of  woe. 

Fainter  grew  our  hearts  with  anguish 

In  that  hour  with  peril  rife, 
When  we  saw  the  pilot  flying, 

Terror-stricken,  for  his  life. 

Then  a  man  uprose  before  us— 
We  had  once  despised  his  race — 

But  we  saw  a  lofty  purpose 
Lighting  up  his  darkened  face. 


OUR  HERO. 

While  the  flames  were  madly  roaring, 
With  a  courage  grand  and  high, 

Forth  he  rushed  unto  our  rescue, 
Strong  to  suffer,  brave  to  die. 

Helplessly  the  boat  was  drifting, 
Death  was  staring  in  each  face, 

When  he  grasped  the  Mien  rudder, 
Took  the  pilot's  vacant  place. 

Could  he  save  us  ?     Would  he  save  us  ? 

All  his  hope  of  life  give  o'er? 
Could  he  hold  that  fated  vessel 

'Till  she  reached  the  nearer  shore? 

All  our  hopes  and  fears  were  centered 
'Round  his  strong,  unfaltering  hand  ; 

If  he  failed  us  we  must  perish, 
Perish  just  in  sight  of  land. 

Breathlessly  we  watched  and  waited 
While  the  flames  were  raging  fast ; 

When  our  anguish  changed  to  rapture— 
We  were  saved,  yes,  saved  at  last. 

Never  strains  of  sweetest  music 
Brought  to  us  more  welcome  sound 


THE  DYING  BONDMAN.  17 

Than  the  grating  of  that  steamer 

When  her  keel  had  touched  the  ground. 

But  our  faithful  martyr  hero 

Through  a  fiery  pathway  trod, 
Till  he  laid  his  valiant  spirit 

On  the  bosom  of  his  God. 

Fame  has  never  crowned  a  hero 

On  the  crimson  fields  of  strife, 
Grander,  nobler,  than  that  pilot 

Yielding  up  for  us  his  life. 


THE  DYING  BONDMAN. 

Life  was  trembling,  faintly  trembling 
On  the  bondman's  latest  breath, 
And  he  felt  the  chilling  pressure 
Of  the  cold,  hard  hand  of  Death. 

He  had  been  an  Afric  chieftain, 
Worn  his  manhood  as  a  crown; 
But  upon  the  field  of  battle 
Had  been  fiercely  stricken  down. 


18  THE  DYING  BONDMAN. 

He  had  longed  to  gain  his  freedom, 
Waited,  watched  and  hoped  in  vain, 
Till  his  life  was  slowly  ebbing — 
Almost  broken  was  his  chain. 

By  his  bedside  stood  the  master, 
Gazing  on  the  dying  one, 
Knowing  by  the  dull  grey  shadows 
That  life's  sands  were  almost  run. 

"  Master,"  said  the  dying  bondman, 
"Home  and  friends  I  soon  shall  see; 
But  before  I  reach  my  country, 
Master  write  that  I  am  free ; 

"  For  the  spirits  of  my  fathers 
Would  shrink  back  from  me  in  pride. 
If  I  told  them  at  our  greeting 
I  a  slave  had  lived  and  died ; — 

"  Give  to  me  the  precious  token, 
That  my  kindred  dead  may  see — 
Master  !  write  it,  write  it  quickly  ! 
Master !  write  that  I  am  free ! " 

At  his  earnest  plea  the  master 
Wrote  for  him  the  glad  release, 


"A  LITTLE  CHILD  SHALL  LEAD  THEM."    19 

O'er  his  wan  and  wasted  features 
Flitted  one  sweet  smile  of  peace. 

Eagerly  he  grasped  the  writing ; 
"  I  am  free  !  "  at  last  he  said. 
Backward  fell  upon  the  pillow, 
He  was  free  among  the  dead. 


"A  LITTLE  CHILD  SHALL  LEAD  THEM." 

Only  a  little  scrap  of  blue 
Preserved  with  loving  care, 

But  earth  has  not  a  brilliant  hue 
To  me  more  bright  and  fair. 

Strong  drink,  like  a  raging  demon, 

Laid  on  my  heart  his  hand, 
When  my  darling  joined  with  others 
The  Loyal  Legion  *  band. 

But  mystic  angels  called  away 
My  loved  and  precious  child, 

And  o'er  life's  dark  and  stormy  way 

Swept  waves  of  anguish  wild. 
*  The  Temperance  Band, 


20    "-4  LITTLE  CHILD  SHALL  LEAD  THEM." 

This  badge  of  the  Loyal  Legion 

We  placed  upon  her  breast, 
As  she  lay  in  her  little  coffin 

Taking  her  last  sweet  rest. 

To  wear  that  badge  as  a  token 

She  earnestly  did  crave, 
So  we  laid  it  on  her  bosom 

To  wear  it  in  the  grave. 

Where  sorrow  would  never  reach  her 
Nor  harsh  words  smite  her  ear; 

Nor  her  eyes  in  death  dimmed  slumber 
Would  ever  shed  a  tear. 

"  What  means  this  badge?  "  said  her  father, 

Whom  we  had  tried  to  save ; 
Who  said,  when  we  told  her  story, 

"  Don't  put  it  in  the  grave." 

We  took  the  badge  from  her  bosom 

And  laid  it  on  a  chair; 
And  men  by  drink  deluded 

Knelt  by  that  badge  in  prayer. 

And  vowed  in  that  hour  of  sorrow 
From  drink  they  would  abstain ; 


THE  SPA  RR  O  W  >S  FA  LL.  2 1 

And  this  little  badge  became  the  wedge 
Which  broke  their  galling  chain. 

And  lifted  the  gloomy  shadows 

That  overspread  my  life, 
And  flooding  my  home  with  gladness, 

Made  me  a  happy  wife. 

And  this  is  why  this  scrap  of  blue 

Is  precious  in  my  sight ; 
It  changed  my  sad  and  gloomy  home 

From  darkness  into  light. 


THE  SPARROW'S   FALL. 

Too  frail  to  soar— a  feeble  thing — 
It  fell  to  earth  with  fluttering  wing; 
But  God,  who  watches  over  all, 
Beheld  that  little  sparrow's  fall. 

'Tvvas  not  a  bird  with  plumage  gay, 
Filling  the  air  with  its  morning  lay; 
'Twas  not  an  eagle  bold  and  strong, 
Borne  on  the  tempest's  wing  along. 


22  THE  SPA  RR  O  W  'S  FA  LL. 

Only  a  brown  and  weesome  thing, 
With  drooping  head  and  listless  wing-, 
It  could  not  drift  beyond  His  sight 
Who  marshals  the  splendid  stars  of  nigh*. 

Its  dying  chirp  fell  on  His  ears, 
Who  tunes  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
Who  hears  the  hungry  lion's  call, 
And  spreads  a  table  for  us  all. 

Its  mission  of  song  at  last  is  done, 

No  more  will  it  greet  the  rising  sun ; 

That  tiny  bird  has  found  a  rest 

More  calm  than  its  mother's  downy  breast 

Oh,  restless  heart,  learn  thou  to  trust 
In  God,  so  tender,  strong  and  just ; 
In  whose  love  and  mercy  everywhere 
His  humblest  children  have  a  share. 

If  in  love  He  numbers  ev'ry  hair, 
Whether  the  strands  be  dark  or  fair, 
Shall  we  not  learn  to  calmly  rest, 
Like  children,  on  our  Father's  breast? 


GOD  BLESS  OUR  NATIVE  LAND.  23 


GOD  BLESS  OUR  NATIVE  LAND. 

God  bless  our  native  land, 
Land  of  the  newjy  free, 

Oh  may  she  ever  stand 
For  truth  and  liberty. 


God  bless  our  native  land, 

Where  sleep  our  kindred  dead, 

Let  peace  at  thy  command 
Above  their  graves  be  shed. 

God  help  our  native  land, 
Bring  surcease  to  her  strife, 

And  shower  from  thy  hand 
A  more  abundant  life. 

God  bless  our  native  land, 

Her  homes  and  children  bless, 

Oh  may  she  ever  stand 

For  truth  and  righteousness. 


24  DANDELIONS. 

DANDELIONS. 

Welcome  children  of  the  Spring, 
In  your  garbs  of  green  and  gold, 

Lifting  up  your  sun-crowned  heads 
On  the  verdant  plain  and  wold. 

As  a  bright  and  joyous  troop 

From  the  breast  of  earth  ye  came 

Fair  and  lovely  are  your  cheeks, 
With  sun-kisses  all  aflame. 

In  the  dusty  streets  and  lanes, 
Where  the  lowly  children  play, 

There  as  gentle  friends  ye  smile, 
Making  brighter  life's  highway. 

Dewdrops  and  the  morning  sun, 

Weave  your  garments  fair  and  bright. 

And  we  welcome  you  to-day 
As  the  children  of  the  light. 

Children  of  the  earth  and  sun, 
We  are  slow  to  understand 

All  the  richness  of  the  gifts 

Flowing  from  our  Father's  hand. 


THE  BUILDING.  25 

Were  our  vision  clearer  far, 

In  this  sin-dimmed  world  of  ours, 

Would  we  not  more  thankful  be 
For  the  love  that  sends  us  flowers  ? 

Welcome,  early  visitants, 

With  your  sun-crowned  golden  hair. 
With  your  message  to  our  hearts 

Of  our  Father's  loving  care. 


THE  BUILDING. 

"Build  me  a  house,'1  said  the  Master, 

"  But  not  on  the  shifting  sand, 
Mid  the  wreck  and  roar  of  tempests, 
A  house  that  will  firmly  stand. 

UI  will  bring  thee  windows  of  agates, 

And  gates  of  carbuncles  bright, 
And  thy  fairest  courts  and  portals 
Shall  be  filled  with  love  and  light. 

"  Thou  shalt  build  with  fadeless  rubies. 

All  fashioned  around  the  throne, 
A  house  that  shall  last  forever, 
With  Christ  as  the  cornerstone. 
3 


26  HOME,  SWEET  HOME. 

"  It  shall  be  a  royal  mansion, 
A  fair  and  beautiful  thing, 
It  will  be  the  presence-chamber 
Of  thy  Saviour,  Lord  and  King. 

"Thy  house  shall  be  bound  with  pinions 

To  mansions  of  rest  above, 
But  grace  shall  forge  all  the  fetters 
With  the  links  and  cords  of  love. 

"  Thou  shalt  be  free  in  this  mansion 
From  sorrow  and  pain  of  heart, 
For  the  peace  of  God  shall  enter, 
And  never  again  depart." 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME. 

Sharers  of  a  common  country, 
They  had  met  in  deadly  strife ; 

Men  who  should  have  been  as  brothers 
Madly  sought  each  other's  life. 

In  the  silence  of  the  even, 
When  the  cannon's  lips  were  dumb, 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME.  27 

Thoughts  of  home  and  all  its  loved  ones 
To  the  soldier's  heart  would  come. 

On  the  margin  of  a  river, 

'Mid  the  evening's  dews  and  damps, 
Could  be  heard  the  sounds  of  music 

Rising  from  two  hostile  camps. 

One  was  singing  of  its  section 

Down  in  Dixie,  Dixie's  land, 
And  the  other  of  the  banner 

Waved  so  long  from  strand  to  strand. 

In  the  land  where  Dixie's  ensign 

Floated  o'er  the  hopeful  slave, 
Rose  the  song  that  freedom's  banner, 

Starry-lighted,  long  might  wave. 

From  the  fields  of  strife  and  carnage, 
Gentle  thoughts  began  to  roam, 

And  a  tender  strain  of  music 

Rose  with  words  of  "  Home,  Sweet  Home.' 

Then  the  hearts  of  strong  men  melted, 

For  amid  our  grief  and  sin 
Still  remains  that  "  toucli  of  nature," 

Telling  us  we  all  are  kin. 


28   THE  PURE  JN  HP: ART  SHALL  SEE  GOD. 

In  one  grand  but  gentle  chorus, 

Floating  to  the  starry  dome, 
Came  the  words  that  brought  them  nearer, 

Words  that  told  of  "  Home,  Sweet  Home 

For  awhile,  all  strife  forgotten, 
They  were  only  brothers  then, 

Joining  in  the  sweet  old  chorus, 
Not  as  soldiers,  but  as  men. 

Men  whose  hearts  would  flow  together, 
Though  apart  their  feet  might  roam, 

Found  a  tie  they  could  not  sever, 
In  the  mem'ry  of  each  home. 

Never  may  the  steps  of  carnage 

Shake  our  land  from  shore  to  shore, 

But  may  mother,  home  and  Heaven, 
Be  our  watchwords  evermore. 


THE  PURE  IN  HEART  SHALL  SEE  GOD. 

They  shall  see  Him  in  the  crimson  flush 

Of  morning's  early  light, 
In  the  drapery  of  sunset, 

Around  the  couch  of  night. 


THE  PURE  IN  HEART  SHALL  SEE  GOD.     29 

When  the  clouds  drop  down  their  fatness, 

In  late  and  early  rain, 
They  shall  see  His  glorious  footprints 

On  valley,  hill  and  plain. 

They  shall  see  Him  when  the  cyclone 
Breathes  terror  through  the  land  ; 

They  shall  see  Him  'mid  the  murmurs 
Of  zephyrs  soft  and  bland. 

They  shall  see  Him  when  the  lips  of  health, 
Breath  vigor  through  each  nerve, 

When  pestilence  clasps  hands  with  death, 
His  purposes  to  serve. 

They  shall  see  Him  when  the  trembling  earth 

Is  rocking  to  and  fro  ; 
They  shall  see  Him  in  the  order 

The  seasons  come  and  go. 

They  shall  see  Him  when  the  storms  of  war 
Sweep  wildly  through  the  land ; 

When  peace  descends  like  gentle  dew 
They  still  shall  see  His  hand. 

They  shall  see  Him  in  the  city 
Of  gems  and  pearls  of  light, 


30  NOWHERE  TO  LAY  HIS  HEAD. 

They  shall  see  Him  in  his  beauty, 
And  walk  with  Him  in  white. 

To  living  founts  their  feet  shall  tend, 
And  Christ  shall  be  their  guide, 

Beloved  of  God,  their  rest  shall  be 
In  safety  by  His  side. 


HE  "  HAD  NOT  WHERE  TO  LAY  His  HEAD." 

The  conies  had  their  hiding-place, 
The  wily  fox  with  stealthy  tread 

A  covert  found,  but  Christ,  the  Lord, 
Had  not  a  place  to  lay  his  head. 

The  eagle  had  an  eyrie  home, 

The  blithesome  bird  its  quiet  rest, 

But  not  the  humblest  spot  on  earth 
Was  by  the  Son  of  God  possessed. 

Princes  and  kings  had  palaces, 

With  grandeur  could  adorn  each,  tomb, 

For  Him  who  came  with  love  and  life, 
They  had  no  home,  they  gave  no  room. 


GO    WORK  IN  MY  VINEYARD.  §\ 

The  hands  whose  touch  sent  thrills  of  joy 
Through     nerves    unstrung    and    palsied 
frame, 

The  feet  that  travelled  for  our  need, 
Were  nailed  unto  the  cross  of  shame. 

How  dare  I  murmur  at  my  lot, 
Or  talk  of  sorrow,  pain  and  loss, 

When  Christ  was  in  a  manger  laid, 
And  died  in  anguish  on  the  cross. 

That  homeless  one  beheld  beyond 

His  lonely  agonizing  pain, 
A  love  outflowing  from  His  heart, 

That  all  the  wandering  world  would  gain. 


Go  WORK  IN  MY  VINEYARD. 

Go  work  in  my  vineyard,  said  the  Lord, 
And  gather  the  bruised  grain  ; 

But  the  reapers  had  left  the  stubble  bare, 
And  I  trod  the  soil  in  pain. 


32  GO   WORK  IN  MY  VINEYARD. 

The  fields  of  my  Lord  are  wide  and  broad, 
He  has  pastures  fair  and  green, 

And  vineyards  that  drink  the  golden  light 
Which  flows  from  the  sun's  bright  sheen. 

I  heard  the  joy  of  the  reapers'  song, 
As  they  gathered  golden  grain ; 

Then  wearily  turned  unto  my  task, 
With  a  lonely  sense  of  pain. 

Sadly  I  turned  from  the  sun's  fierce  glare, 

And  sought  the  quiet  shade, 
And  over  my  dim  and  weary  eyes 

Sleep's  peaceful  fingers  strayed. 

I  dreamed  I  joined  with  a  restless  throng, 

Eager  for  pleasure  and  gain ; 
But  ever  and  anon  a  stumbler  fell, 

And  uttered  a  cry  of  pain. 

But  the  eager  crowd  still  hurried  on, 

Too  busy  to  pause  or  heed, 
When  a  voice  rang  sadly  through  my  soul, 

You  must  staunch  these  wounds  that  bleed. 

My  hands  were  weak,  but  I  reached  them  out 
To  feebler  ones  than  mine, 


RENEWAL  OF  STRENGTH.  g 

And  over  the  shadows  of  my  life 
Stole  the  light  of  a  peace  divine. 

Oh  !  then  my  task  was  a  sacred  thing, 
How  precious  it  grew  in  my  eyes  ! 

'Twas  mine  to  gather  the  bruised  grain 
For  the  "  Lord  of  Paradise." 

And  when  the  reapers  shall  lay  their  grain 

On  the  floors  of  golden  light, 
I  feel  that  mine  with  its  broken  sheaves 

Shall  be  precious  in  His  sight. 

Though  thorns  may  often  pierce  my  feet, 

And  the  shadows  still  abide, 
The  mists  will  vanish  before  His  smile, 

There  will  be  light  at  eventide. 


RENEWAL  OF  STRENGTH. 

The  prison-house  in  which  I  live 

Is  falling  to  decay, 
But  God  renews  my  spirit's  strength, 

Within  these  walls  of  clay. 


34  JAMIE'S  PUZZLE. 

For  me  a  dimness  slowly  creeps 
Around  earth's  fairest  light, 

But  heaven  grows  clearer  to  my  view, 
And  fairer  to  my  sight. 

It  may  be  earth's  sweet  harmonies 

Are  duller  to  my  ear, 
But  music  from  my  Father's  house 

Begins  to  float  more  near. 

Then  let  the  pillars  of  my  home 

Crumble  and  fall  away  ; 
Lo,  God's  dear  love  within  my  soul 

Renews  it  day  by  day. 


JAMIE'S   PUZZLE. 

There  was  grief  within  our  household 

Because  of  a  vacant  chair. 
Our  mother,  so  loved  and  precious, 

No  longer  was  sitting  there. 


JAMIE'S  PUZZLE.  35 

Our  hearts  grew  heavy  with  sorrow, 
Our  eyes  with  tears  were  blind, 

And  little  Jamie  was  wondering, 
Why  we  were  left  behind. 

We  had  told  our  little  darling, 

Of  the  land  of  love  and  light, 
Of  the  saints  all  crowned  with  glory, 

And  enrobed  in  spotless  white. 

We  said  that  our  precious  mother, 

Had  gone  to  that  land  so  fair, 
To  dwell  with  beautiful  angels, 

And  to  be  forever  there. 

But  the  child  was  sorely  puzzled, 
Why  dear  grandmamma  should  go 

To  dwell  in  a  stranger  city, 

When  her  children  loved  her  so. 

But  again  the  mystic  angel 

Came  with  swift  and  silent  tread, 

And  our  sister,  Jamie's  mother, 
Was  enrolled  among  the  dead. 

To  us  the  mystery  deepened, 
To  Jamie  it  seemed  more  clear : 


36  TRUTH. 

Grandma,  he  said,  must  be  lonesome, 
And  mamma  has  gone  to  her. 

But  the  question  lies  unanswered 
In  our  little  Jamie's  mind, 

Why  she  should  go  to  our  mother, 
And  leave  her  children  behind  ; 

To  dwell  in  that  lovely  city, 
From  all  that  was  dear  to  part, 

From  children  who  loved  to  nestle 
So  closely  around  her  heart. 

Dear  child,  like  you,  we  are  puzzled, 
With  problems  that  still  remain ; 

But  think  in  the  great  hereafter 
Their  meaning  will  all  be  plain. 


TRUTH. 

A  rock,  for  ages,  stern  and  high, 
Stood  frowning  'gainst  the  earth  and  sky, 
And  never  bowed  his  haughty  crest 
When  angry  storms  around  him  prest. 
Morn,  springing  from  the  arms  of  night, 
Had  often  bathed  his  brow  with  light, 


TRUTH.  37 

And  kissed  the  shadows  from  his  face 
With  tender  love  and  gentle  grace. 

Day,  pausing  at  the  gates  of  rest, 
Smiled  on  him  from  the  distant  West, 
And  from  her  throne  the  dark-browed  Night 
Threw  round  his  path  her  softest  light. 
And  yet  he  stood  unmoved  and  proud, 
Nor  love,  nor  wrath,  his  spirit  bowed ; 
He  bared  his  brow  to  every  blast 
And  scorned  the  tempest  as  it  passed. 

One  day  a  tiny,  humble  seed— 

The  keenest  eye  would  hardly  heed — 

Fell  trembling  at  that  stern  rock's  base, 

And  found  a  lowly  hiding-place. 

A  ray  of  light,  and  drop  of  dew, 

Came  with  a  message,  kind  and  true; 

They  told  her  of  the  world  so  bright, 

Its  love,  its  joy,  and  rosy  light, 

And  lured  her  from  her  hiding-place, 

To  gaze  upon  earth's  glorious  face. 

So,  peeping  timid  from  the  ground, 
She  clasped  the  ancient  rock  around, 
And  climbing  up  with  childish  grace, 
She  held  him  with  a  close  embrace ; 


38  DEATH  OF  THE  OLD  SEA  KING. 

Her  clinging  was  a  thing  of  dread  ; 

Where'er  she  touched  a  fissure  spread, 

And  he  who'd  breasted  many  a  storm 

Stood  frowning  there,  a  mangled  form  ; 

A  Truth,  dropped  in  the  silent  earth, 

May  seem  a  thing  of  little  worth, 

Till,  spreading  round  some  mighty  wrong, 

It  saps  its  pillars  proud  and  strong, 

And  o'er  the  fallen  ruin  weaves 

The  brightest  blooms  and  fairest  leaves. 


DEATH  OF  THE  OLD  SEA  KING. 

'Twas  a  fearful  night — the  tempest  raved 

With  loud  and  wrathful  pride, 
The  storm-king  harnessed  his  lightning  steeds, 

And  rode  on  the  raging  tide. 

The  sea-king  lay  on  his  bed  of  death, 
Pale  mourners  around  him  bent; 

They  knew  the  wild  and  fitful  life 
Of  their  chief  was  almost  spent. 

TTis  ear  was  growing  dull  in  death 
When  the  angry  storm  he  heard, 


DEATH  OF  THE  OLD  SEA   KING.  39 

The  sluggish  blood  in  the  old  man's  veins 
With  sudden  vigor  stirred. 

"  I  hear  them  call,"  cried  the  dying  man, 

His  eyes  grew  full  of  light ; 
"  Now  bring  me  here  my  warrior  robes, 

My  sword  and  armor  bright. 

a  In  the  tempest's  lull  I  heard  a  voice, 

I  knew  'twas  Odin's  call. 
The  Valkyrs  are  gathering  round  my  bed 

To  lead  me  unto  his  hall. 

"  Bear  me  unto  my  noblest  ship, 

Light  up  a  funeral  pyre ; 
I'll  walk  to  the  palace  of  the  braves 

Through  a  path  of  flame  and  fire." 

Oh !  wild  and  bright  was  the  stormy  light 
That  flashed  from  the  old  man's  eye, 

As  they  bore  him  from  the  couch  of  death 
To  his  battle-ship  to  die, 

And  lit  with  many  a  mournful  torch 

The  sea-king's  dying  bed, 
And  like  a  banner  fair  and  bright 

The  flames  around  him  spread. 


40  SAVE  THE  BOYS. 

But  they  heard  no  cry  of  anguish 
Break  through  that  fiery  wall, 

With  rigid  brow  and  silent  lips 
He  was  seeking  Odin's  hall. 

Through  a  path  of  fearful  splendor, 
While  strongmen  held  their  breath, 

The  brave  old  man  went  boldly  forth 
Arid  calmly  talked  with  death. 


SAVE  THE  BOYS. 

Like  Dives  in  the  deeps  of  Hell 

I  cannot  break  this  fearful  spell, 

Nor  quench  the  fires  I've  madly  nursed, 

Nor  cool  this  dreadful  raging  thirst. 

Take  back  your  pledge — ye  come  too  late! 

Ye  cannot  save  me  from  my  fate, 

Nor  bring  me  back  departed  joys ; 

But  ye  can  try  to  save  the  boys. 

Ye  bid  me  break  my  fiery  chain, 
Arise  and  be  a  man  again, 


SAVE  THE  BOYS.  41 

When  every  street  with  snares  is  spread, 
And  nets  of  sin  where'er  I  tread. 
No;  I  must  reap  as  I  did  sow. 
The  seeds  of  sin  bring  crops  of  woe  ; 
But  with  my  latest  breath  I'll  crave 
That  ye  will  try  the  boys  to  save. 

These  bloodshot  eyes  were  once  so  bright ; 

This  sin-crushed  heart  was  glad  and  light ; 

But  by  the  wine-cup's  ruddy  glow 

I  traced  a  path  to  shame  and  woe. 

A  captive  to  my  galling  chain, 

I've  tried  to  rise,  but  tried  in  vain— 

The  cup  allures  and  then  destroys. 

Oh  !  from  its  thraldom  save  the  boys. 

Take  from  your  streets  those  traps  of  hell 
Into  whose  gilded  snares  I  fell. 
Oh  !  freemen,  from  these  foul  decoys 
Arise,  and  vote  to  save  the  boys. 
Oh,  ye  who  license  men  to  trade 
In  draughts  that  charm  and  then  degrade, 
Before  ye  hear  the  cry,  Too  late, 
Oh,  save  the  boys  from  my  sad  fate. 
4 


42  NOTHING  AND  SOMETHING. 


NOTHING  AND  SOMETHING. 

It  is  nothing  to  me,  the  beauty  said, 

With  a  careless  toss  of  her  pretty  head ; 

The  man  is  weak  if  he  can't  refrain 

From  the  cup  you  say  is  fraught  with  pain. 

It  was  something  to  her  in  after  years, 

When   her  eyes  were  drenched  with   burning 

tears, 

And  she  watched  in  lonely  grief  and  dread, 
And  startled  to  hear  a  staggering  tread. 

It  is  nothing  to  me,  the  mother  said  ; 
I  have  no  fear  that  my  boy  will  tread 
In  the  downward  path  of  sin  and  shame, 
And  crush  my  heart  and  darken  his  name. 
It  was  something  to  her  when  that  only  son 
From  the  path  of  right  was  early  won, 
And  madly  cast  in  the  flowing  bowl 
A  ruined  body  and  sin-wrecked  soul. 

It  is  nothing  to  me,  the  young  man  cried  : 
In  his  eye  was  a  flash  of  scorn  and  pride ; 
I  heed  not  the  dreadful  things  ye  tell : 
I  can  rule  myself  I  know  full  well. 


NOTHING  AND  SOMETHING.  43 

It  was  something  to  him  when  in  prison  he  lay 
The  victim  of  drink,  life  ebbing  away ; 
And  thought  of  his  wretched  child  and  wife, 
And  the  mournful  wreck  of  his  wasted  life. 

It  is  nothing  to  me,  the  merchant  said, 

As  over  his  ledger  he  bent  his  head ; 

I'm  busy  to-day  with  tare  and  tret, 

And  I  have  no  time  to  fume  and  fret. 

It  was  something  to  him  when  over  the  wire 

A  message  came  from  a  funeral  pyre — 

A  drunken  conductor  had  wrecked  a  train, 

And  his  wife  and  child  were  among  the  slain. 

It  is  nothing  to  me,  the  voter  said, 
The  party's  loss  is  my  greatest  dread  ; 
Then  gave  his  vote  for  the  liquor  trade, 
Though  hearts  were   crushed   and   drunkards 

made. 

It  was  something  to  him  in  after  life, 
When  his  daughter  became  a  drunkard's  wife 
And  her  hungry  children  cried  for  bread, 
And  trembled  to  hear  their  father's  tread. 

Is  it  nothing  for  us  to  idly  sleep 
While  the  cohorts  of  death  their  vigils  keep  ? 
To  gather  the  young  and  thoughtless  in, 
And  grind  in  our  midst  a  grist  of  sin  ? 


44  VASHTL 

It  is  something,  yes,  all,  for  us  to  stand 
Clasping  by  faith  our  Saviour's  hand  ; 
To  learn  to  labor,  live  and  fight 
On  the  side  of  God  and  changeless  light. 


VASHTI. 

She  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand 
And  heard  the  King's  decree— 

"  My  lords  are  feasting  in  my  halls ; 
Bid  Vashti  come  to  me. 

"  I've  shown  the  treasures  of  my  house, 

My  costly  jewels  rare, 
But  with  the  glory  of  her  eyes 

No  rubies  can  compare. 

"Adorn'd  and  crown'd  I'd  have  her  come, 

With  all  her  queenly  grace, 
And,  'mid  my  lords  and  mighty  men, 

Unveil  her  lovely  face. 

"  Each  gem  that  sparkles  in  my  crown, 
Or  glitters  on  my  throne, 


VASHTI.  45 

Grows  poor  and  pale  when  she  appears, 
My  beautiful,  my  own  !  " 

All  waiting  stood  the  chamberlains 

To  hear  the  Queen's  reply. 
They  saw  her  cheek  grow  deathly  pale, 

But  light  flash'd  to  her  eye : 

"  Go,  tell  the  King,"  she  proudly  said, 

"  That  I  am  Persia's  Queen, 
And  by  his  crowds  of  merry  men 

I  never  will  be  seen. 

"  I'll  take  the  crown  from  off  my  head 

And  tread  it  'neath  my  feet, 
Before  their  rude  and  careless  gaze 

My  shrinking  eyes  shall  meet. 

"  A  queen  unveiPd  before  the  crowd  I—- 
Upon each  lip  my  name  ! — 

Why,  Persia's  women  all  would  blush 
And  weep  for  Vashti's  shame ! 

11  Go  back  I  "  she  cried,  and  waved  her  hand, 

And  grief  was  in  her  eye  : 
"  Go,  tell  the  King,"  she  sadly  said, 

"  That  I  would  rather  die." 


46  VASHTI. 

They  brought  her  message  to  the  King; 

Dark  flash 'd  his  angry  eye ; 
'Twas  as  the  lightning  ere  the  storm 

Hath  swept  in  fury  by. 

Then  bitterly  outspoke  the  King, 
Through  purple  lips  of  wrath — 

"  What  shall  be  done  to  her  who  dares 
To  cross  your  monarch's  path  ?  " 

Then  spake  his  wily  counsellors — 

"0  King  of  this  fair  land  ! 
From  distant  Ind  to  Ethiop, 

All  bow  to  thy  command. 

"  But  if,  before  thy  servants'  eyes, 

This  thing  they  plainly  see, 
That  Vashti  doth  not  heed  thy  will 

Nor  yield  herself  to  thee, 

"  The  women,  restive  'neath  our  rule, 
Would  learn  to  scorn  our  name, 

And  from  her  deed  to  us  would  come 
Reproach  and  burning  shame. 

"  Then,  gracious  King,  sign  with  thy  hand 
This  stern  but  just  decree, 


THANK  GOD  FOR  LITTLE  CHILDREN.       47 

That  Vashti  lay  aside  her  crown, 
Thy  Queen  no  more  to  be." 

She  heard  again  the  King's  command, 

And  left  her  high  estate ; 
Strong  in  her  earnest  womanhood, 

She  calmly  met  her  fate, 

And  left  the  palace  of  the  King, 

Proud  of  her  spotless  name — 
A  woman  who  could  bend  to  grief, 

But  would  not  bow  to  shame. 


THANK  GOD  FOR  LITTLE  CHILDREN. 

Thank  God  for  little  children, 

Bright  flowers  by  earth's  wayside, 

The  dancing,  joyous  lifeboats 
Upon  life's  stormy  tide. 

Thank  God  for  little  children  ; 

When  our  skies  are  cold  and  gray, 
They  come  as  sunshine  to  our  hearts, 

And  charm  our  cares  away. 


48      THANK  GOD  FOR  LITTLE  CHILDREN. 

I  almost  think  the  angels, 
Who  tend  life's  garden  fair, 

Drop  down  the  sweet  wild  blossoms 
That  bloom  around  us  here. 

It  seems  a  breath  of  heaven 
Round  many  a  cradle  lies, 

And  every  little  baby 

Brings  a  message  from  the  skies. 

Dear  mothers,  guard  these  jewels, 
As  sacred  offerings  meet, 

A  wealth  of  household  treasures 
To  lay  at  Jesus'  feet. 


THE  MARTYR  OF  ALABAMA. 

[THE  following  news  item  appeared  in  the 
newspapers  throughout  the  country,  issue  of 
December  27th,  1894: 

"  Tim  Thompson,  a  little  negro  boy,  was  asked 
to  dance  for  the  amusement  of  some  white 
toughs.  He  refused,  saying  he  was  a  church 
member.  One  of  the  men  knocked  him 
down  with  a  club  and  then  danced  upon  his 
prostrate  form.  He  then  shot  the  boy  in  the 
hip.  The  boy  is  dead ;  his  murderer  is  still  at 
large."] 

He  lifted  up  his  pleading  eyes, 

And  scanned  each  cruel  face, 
Where  cold  and  brutal  cowardice 

Had  left  its  evil  trace. 

It  was  when  tender  memories 
Hound  Beth'lem's  manger  lay, 

(49) 


50  THE  MARTYR   OF  ALABAMA. 

And  mothers  told  their  little  ones 
Of  Jesu's  natal  day. 

And  of  the  Magi  from  the  East 
Who  came  their  gifts  to  bring, 

And  bow  in  rev'rence  at  the  feet 
Of  Salem's  new-born  King. 

And  how  the  herald  angels  sang 

The  choral  song  of  peace, 
That  war  should  close  his  wrathful  lips. 

And  strife  and  carnage  cease. 

At  such  an  hour  men  well  may  hush 
Their  discord  and  their  strife, 

And  o'er  that  manger  clasp  their  hands 
With  gifts  to  brighten  life. 

Alas !  that  in  our  favored  land, 

That  cruelty  and  crime 
Should  cast  their  shadows  o'er  a  day, 

The  fairest  pearl  of  time. 

A  dark-browed  boy  had  drawn  an  ear 

A  band  of  savage  men, 
Just  as  a  hapless  lamb  might  stray 

Into  a  tiger's  den. 


THE  MARTYR   OF  ALABAMA.  51 

Cruel  and  dull,  they  saw  in  him 

For  sport  an  evil  chance, 
And  then  demanded  of  the  child 

To  give  to  them  a  dance. 

"  Come  dance  for  us,"  the  rough  men  said  ; 

"  I  can't,"  the  child  replied, 
"  I  cannot  for  the  dear  Lord's  sake, 

Who  for  my  sins  once  died." 

Tho'  they  were  strong  and  he  was  weak, 

He  wouldn't  his  Lord  deny. 
His  life  lay  in  their  cruel  hands, 

But  he  for  Christ  could  die. 

• 

Heard  they  aright?     Did  that  brave  child 

Their  mandates  dare  resist? 
Did  he  against  their  stern  commands 

Have  courage  to  resist  ? 

Then  recklessly  a  man  (?)  arose, 

And  dealt  a  fearful  blow. 
He  crushed  the  portals  of  that  life, 

And  laid  the  brave  child  low. 

And  trampled  on  his  prostrate  form, 
As  on  a  broken  toy ; 


52  THE  MAR'fYR   OF  ALABAMA. 

Then  danced  with  careless,  brutal  feet, 
Upon  the  murdered  boy. 

Christians  !  behold  that  martyred  child  ! 

His  blood  cries  from  the  ground  ; 
Before  the  sleepless  eye  of  God, 

He  shows  each  gaping  wound. 

Oh  !  Church  of  Christ  arise !  arise  ! 

Lest  crimson  stain  thy  hand, 
When  God  shall  inquisition  make 

For  blood  shed  in  the  land. 

Take  sackcloth  of  the  darkest  hue, 
And  shroud  the  pulpits  round  ; 

Servants  of  him  who  cannot  lie 
Sit  mourning  on  the  ground. 

Let  holy  horror  blanch  each  brow, 
Pale  every  cheek  with  fears, 

And  rocks  and  stones,  if  ye  could  speak, 
Ye  well  might  melt  to  tears. 

Through  every  fane  send  forth  a  cry, 

Of  sorrow  and  regret, 
Nor  in  an  hour  of  careless  ease 

Thy  brother's  wrongs  forget. 


THE  NIGHT  OF  DEATH.  53 

Veil  not  thine  eyes,  nor  close  thy  lips, 

Nor  speak  with  bated  breath ; 
This  evil  shall  not  always  last, — 

The  end  of  it  is  death. 

Avert  the  doom  that  crime  must  bring 

Upon  a  guilty  land ; 
Strong  in  the  strength  that  God  supplies, 

For  truth  and  justice  stand. 

For  Christless  men,  with  reckless  hands, 

Are  sowing  round  thy  path 
The  tempests  wild  that  yet  shall  break 

In  whirlwinds  of  God's  wrath. 


THE  NIGHT  OF  DEATH. 

Twas  a  night  of  dreadful  horror, — 
Death  was  sweeping  through  the  land  ; 

And  the  wings  of  dark  destruction 

Were  outstretched  from  strand  to  strand. 

Strong  men's  hearts  grew  faint  with  terror, 
As  the  tempest  and  the  waves 


54  THE  NIGHT  OF  DEATH. 

Wrecked  their  homes  and  swept  them  down- 
ward, 
Suddenly  to  yawning  graves. 

'Mid  the  wastes  of  ruined  households, 
And  the  tempest's  wild  alarms, 

Stood  a  terror-stricken  mother 
With  a  child  within  her  arms. 

Other  children  huddled  'round  her, 
Each  one  nestling  in  her  heart ; 

Swift  in  thought  and  swift  in  action, 
She  at  least  from  one  must  part. 

Then  she  said  unto  her  daughter, 

"  Strive  to  save  one  child  from  death." 

"  Which  one  ?  "  said  the  anxious  daughter, 
As  she  stood  with  bated  breath. 

Oh  !  the  anguish  of  that  mother  ; 

What  despair  was  in  her  eye ! 
All  her  little  ones  were  precious ; 

Which  one  should  she  leave  to  die? 

Then  outspake  the  brother  Bennie  : 

"  I  will  take  the  little  one." 
"  No,"  exclaimed  the  anxious  mother; 

"  No,  my  child,  it  can't  be  done." 


THE  NIGHT  OF  DEATH.  55 

"  See !  my  boy,  the  waves  are  rising, 
Save  yourself  and  leave  the  child !  " 

"  I  will  trust  in  Christ,"  he  answered ; 
Grasped  the  little  one  and  smiled. 

Through  the  roar  of  wind  and  waters 

Ever  and  anon  she  cried ; 
But  throughout  the  night  of  terror 

Never  Bennie's  voice  replied. 

But  above  the  waves'  wild  surging 

He  had  found  a  safe  retreat, 
As  if  God  had  sent  an  angel, 

Just  to  guide  his  wandering  feet. 

When  the  storm  had  spent  its  fury, 

And  the  sea  gave  up  its  dead, 
She  was  mourning  for  her  loved  ones, 

Lost  amid  that  night  of  dread. 

While  her  head  was  bowed  in  anguish, 

On  her  ear  there  fell  a  voice, 
Bringing  surcease  to  her  sorrow, 

Bidding  all  her  heart  rejoice. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  true?  "  said  Bennie, 
And  his  eyes  were  full  of  light, 


56  MOTHER'S   TREASURES. 

"  When  I  told  you  God  would  help  me 
Through  the  dark  and  dreadful  night?  " 

And  he  placed  the  little  darling 
Safe  within  his  mother's  arms. 

Feeling  Christ  had  been  his  guardian, 
'Mid  the  dangers  and  alarms. 

Oh  !  for  faith  so  firm  and  precious, 

In  the  darkest,  saddest  night, 
Till  life's  gloom-encircled  shadows 

Fade  in  everlasting  light. 

And  upon  the  mount  of  vision 
We  our  loved  and  lost  shall  greet, 

With  earth's  wildest  storms  behind  us, 
And  its  cares  beneath  our  feet. 


MOTHER'S  TREASURES. 

Two  little  children  sit  by  my  side, 
I  call  them  Lily  and  Daffodil; 

I  gaze  on  them  with  a  mother's  pride, 
One  is  Edna,  the  other  is  Will. 

Both  have  eyes  of  starry  light, 

And  laughing  lips  o'er  teeth  of  pearL 


MOTHER'S   TREASURES.  r>7 

I  would  not  change  for  a  diadem 
My  noble  boy  and  darling  girl. 

To-night  my  heart  o'erflows  with  joy  ; 

I  hold  them  as  a  sacred  trust ; 
I  fain  would  hide  them  in  my  heart, 

Safe  from  tarnish  of  moth  and  rust. 

What  should  I  ask  for  my  dear  boy  ? 

The  richest  gifts  of  wealth  or  fame  ? 
What  for  my  girl  ?  A  loving  heart 

And  a  fair  and  a  spotless  name  ? 

What  for  my  boy  ?  That  he  should  stand 
A  pillar  of  strength  to  the  state  ? 

What  for  my  girl?  That  she  should  be 
The  friend  of  the  poor  and  desolate  ? 

I  do  not  ask  they  shall  never  tread 
With  weary  feet  the  paths  of  pain. 

I  ask  that  in  the  darkest  hour 

They  may  faithful  and  true  remain. 

I  only  ask  their  lives  may  be 

Pure  as  gems  in  the  gates  of  pearl, 

Lives  to  brighten  and  bless  the  world — 
This  I  ask  for  my  boy  and  girl. 
5 


58  THE  REFINER'S  GOLD. 

I  ask  to  clasp  their  hands  again 
'Mid  the  holy  hosts  of  heaven, 

Enraptured  say  :  "  I  am  here,  oh  !  God, 
"And  the  children  Thou  hast  given." 


THE  REFINER'S  GOLD. 
He  stood  before  my  heart's  closed  door, 

And  asked  to  enter  in  ; 
But  I  had  barred  the  passage  o'er 

By  unbelief  and  sin. 

He  came  with  nail-prints  in  his  hands, 

To  set  my  spirit  free  ; 
With  wounded  feet  he  trod  a  path 

To  come  and  sup  with  me. 

He  found  me  poor  and  brought  me  gold. 

The  fire  of  love  had  tried, 
And  garments  whitened  by  his  blood, 

My  wretchedness  to  hide. 

The  glare  of  life  had  dimmed  my  eyes, 

Its  glamour  was  too  bright. 
He  came  with  ointment  in  his  hands 

To  heal  my  darkened  sight, 


THE  REFINER'S  GOLD.  59 

He  knew  my  heart  was  tempest-tossed, 

By  care  and  pain  oppressed  ; 
He  whispered  to  my  burdened  heart, 

Come  unto  me  and  rest. 

He  found  me  weary,  faint  and  worn, 

On  barren  mountains  cold ; 
With  love's  constraint  he  drew  me  on, 

To  shelter  in  his  fold. 

Oh  !  foolish  heart,  how  slow  wert  thou 

To  welcome  thy  dear  guest, 
To  change  thy  weariness  and  care 

For  comfort,  peace  and  rest. 

Close  to  his  side,  oh  !  may  I  stay, 

Just  to  behold  his  face, 
Till  I  shall  wear  within  my  soul 

The  image  of  his  grace. 

The  grace  that  changes  hearts  of  stone 

To  tenderness  and  love, 
And  bids  us  run  with  willing  feet 

Unto  his  courts  above. 


60  A   STORY  OF  THE  REBELLION. 

A  STORY  OF  THE  REBELLION. 

The  treacherous  sands  had  caught  our  boat, 
And  held  it  with  a  strong  embrace  • 

And  death  at  our  imprisoned  crew 
Was  sternly  looking  face  to  face. 

With  anxious  hearts,  but  failing  strength, 
We  strove  to  push  the  boat  from  shore ; 

But  all  in  vain,  for  there  we  lay 
With  bated  breath  and  useless  oar. 

Around  us  in  a  fearful  storm 

The  fiery  hail  fell  thick  and  fast; 

And  we  engirded  by  the  sand, 

Could  not  return  the  dreadful  blast. 

When  one  arose  upon  whose  brow 
The  ardent  sun  had  left  his  trace ; 

A  noble  purpose  strong  and  high 
Uplighting  all  his  dusky  face. 

Perchance  within  that  fateful  hour 
The  wrongs  of  ages  thronged  apace ; 

But  with  it  came  the  glorious  hope 
Of  swift  deliverance  to  his  race. 

Of  galling  chains  asunder  rent, 

Of  severed  hearts  again  made  one, 


A   STORY  OF  THE  REBELLION.  61 

Of  freedom  crowning  all  the  land 

Through  battles  gained  and  victories  won. 

"  Some  one,"  our  hero  firmly  said, 
"  Must  die  to  get  us  out  of  this  ;  " 

Then  leaped  upon  the  strand  and  bared 
His  bosom  to  the  bullets'  hiss. 

"  But  ye  are  soldiers,  and  can  fight, 
May  win  in  battles  yet  unfought ; 

I  have  no  offering  but  my  life, 
And  if  they  kill  me  it  is  nought." 

With  steady  hands  he  grasped  the  boat, 
And  boldly  pushed  it  from  the  shore ; 

Then  fell  by  rebel  bullets  pierced, 
His  life  work  grandly,  nobly  o'er. 

Our  boat  was  rescued  from  the  sands 
And  launched  in  safety  on  the  tide ; 

But  he  our  comrade  good  and  grand, 
In  our  defence  had  bravely  died. 


BURIAL  OF  SARAH. 

He  stood  before  the  sons  of  Heth, 
And  bowed  his  sorrowing  head  ; 


6*2  BURIAL    OF  SARAH. 

"  I've  come,"  he  said,  "  to  buy  a  place 
Where  I  may  lay  my  dead. 

"  I  am  a  stranger  in  your  land, 
My  home  has  lost  its  light; 

Grant  me  a  place  where  I  may  lay 
My  dead  away  from  sight.'' 

Then  tenderly  the  sons  of  Heth 
Gazed  on  the  mourner's  face, 

And  said,  "  Oh,  Prince,  amid  our  dead, 
Choose  thou  her  resting-place. 

"The  sepulchres  of  those  we  love, 
We  place  at  thy  command  ; 

Against  the  plea  thy  grief  hath  made 
We  close  not  heart  nor  hand." 

The  patriarch  rose  and  bowed  his  head, 
And  said,  "  One  place  I  crave  ; 

'Tis  at  the  end  of  Ephron's  field, 
And  called  Machpelah's  cave. 

"  Entreat  him  that  he  sell  to  me 
For  her  last  sleep  that  cave ; 

I  do  not  ask  for  her  I  loved 
The  freedom  of  a  grave." 


BURIAL   OF  SARAH.  63 

The  son  of  Zohar  answered  him, 

"Hearken,  my  lord,  to  me; 
Before  our  sons,  the  field  and  cave 

I  freely  give  to  thee." 

"  I  will  not  take  it  as  ,1  gift," 

The  grand  old  man  then  said ; 
"  I  pray  thee  let  me  buy  the  place 

Where  I  may  lay  my  dead." 

And  with  the  promise  in  his  heart, 

His  seed  should  own  that  land, 
He  gave  the  shekels  for  the  field 

He  took  from  Ephron's  hand. 

And  saw  afar  the  glorious  day 

His  chosen  seed  should  tread, 
The  soil  where  he  in  sorrow  lay 

His  loved  and  cherished  dead. 


GOING  EAST. 

She  came  from  the  East  a  fair,  young  bride, 
With  a  light  and  a  bounding  heart, 

To  find  in  the  distant  West  a  home 
With  her  husband  to  make  a  start. 


64  GOING  EAST. 

He  builded  his  cabin  far  away, 

Where  the  prairie  flower  bloomed  wild; 

Her  love  made  lighter  all  his  toil, 

And  joy  and  hope  around  him  smiled. 

She  plied  her  hands  to  life's  homely  tasks, 
And  helped  to  build  his  fortunes  up ; 

While  joy  and  grief,  like  bitter  and  sweet, 
Were  mingled  and  mixed  in  her  cup. 

He  sowed  in  his  fields  of  golden  grain, 
All  the  strength  of  his  manly  prime; 

Nor  music  of  birds,  nor  brooks,  nor  bees. 
Was  as  sweet  as  the  dollar's  chime. 

She  toiled  and  waited  through  weary  years 
For  the  fortune  that  came  at  length ; 

But  toil  and  care  and  hope  deferred, 
Had  stolen  and  wasted  her  strength. 

The  cabin  changed  to  a  stately  home, 
Rich  carpets  were  hushing  her  tread  ; 

But  light  was  fading  from  her  eye, 

And  the  bloom  from  her  cheek  had  fled. 

Slower  and  heavier  grew  her  step, 

While  his  gold  and  his  gains  increased  ; 


GOING  EAST.  65 

But  his  proud  domain  had  not  the  charm 
Of  her  humble  home  in  the  East. 

Within  her  eye  was  a  restless  light, 
And  a  yearning  that  never  ceased, 

A  longing  to  see  the  dear  old  home 
She  had  left  in  the  distant  East. 

A  longing  to  clasp  her  mother's  hand, 

And  nestle  close  to  her  heart, 
And  to  feel  the  heavy  cares  of  life 

Like  the  sun-kissed  shadows  depart. 

Her  husband  was  adding  field  to  field, 
And  new  wealth  to  his  golden  store ; 

And  little  thought  the  shadow  of  death 
Was  entering  in  at  his  door. 

He  had  no  line  to  sound  the  depths 
Of  her  tears  repressed  and  unshed  ; 

Nor  dreamed  'mid  plenty  a  human  heart 
Could  be  starving,  but  not  for  bread. 

The  hungry  heart  was  stilled  at  last ; 

Its  restless,  baffled  yearning  ceased. 
A  lonely  man  sat  by  the  bier 

Of  a  corpse  that  was  going  East. 


)  THE  HERMIT'S  SACRIFICE. 

THE  HERMIT'S  SACRIFICE. 

From  Rome's  palaces  and  villas 
Gaily  issued  forth  a  throng  ; 

From  her  humbler  habitations 
Moved  a  human  tide  along. 

Haughty  dames  and  blooming  maidens, 
Men  who  knew  not  mercy's  sway. 

Thronged  into  the  Coliseum 
On  that  Roman  holiday. 

From  the  lonely  wilds  of  Asia, 

From  her  jungles  far  away, 
From  the  distant  torrid  regions, 

Rome  had  gathered  beasts  of  prey. 

Lions  restless,  roaring,  rampant, 
Tigers  with  their  stealthy  tread, 

Leopards  bright,  and  fierce,  and  fiery, 
Met  in  conflict  wild  and  dread. 

Fierce  and  fearful  was  the  carnage 
Of  the  maddened  beasts  of  prey, 

As  they  fought  and  rent  each  other 
Urged  by  men  more  fierce  than  they. 

Till  like  muffled  thunders  breaking 
On  a  vast  and  distant  shore, 


THE  HERMITS  SACRIFICE.  67 

Fainter  grew  the  yells  of  tigers, 
And  the  lions'  dreadful  roar. 

On  the  crimson-stained  arena 

Lay  the  victims  of  the  fight; 
Eyes  which  once  had  glared  with  angui&L, 

Lost  in  death  their  baleful  light. 

Then  uprose  the  gladiators 

Armed  for  conflict  unto  death, 
Waiting  for  the  prefect's  signal, 

Cold  and  stern  with  bated  breath. 

"  Ave  Csesar,  morituri, 

Te,  salutant,"  rose  the  cry 
From  the  lips  of  men  ill-fated, 

Doomed  to  suffer  and  to  die. 

Then  began  the  dreadful  contest, 
Lives  like  chaff  were  thrown  away, 

Rome  with  all  her  pride  and  power 
Butchered  for  a  holiday. 

Eagerly  the  crowd  were  waiting, 

Loud  the  clashing  sabres  rang. 
When  between  the  gladiators 

All  unarmed  a  hermit  sprang. 


68  THE  HERMIT'S  SACRIFICE. 

"Cease  your  bloodshed,"  cried  the  hermit, 
"  On  this  carnage  place  your  ban  ;" 

But  with  flashing  swords  they  answered, 
"  Back  unto  your  place,  old  man." 

From  their  path  the  gladiators 
Thrust  the  strange  intruder  back, 

Who  between  their  hosts  advancing 
Calmly  parried  their  attack. 

All  undaunted  by  their  weapons, 

Stood  the  old  heroic  man  ; 
While  a  maddened  cry  of  anger 

Through  the  vast  assembly  ran. 

"  Down  with  him,"  cried  out  the  people, 
As  with  thumbs  unbent  they  glared, 

Till  the  prefect  gave  the  signal 
That  his  life  should  not  be  spared. 

Men  grew  wild  witli  wrathful  passion, 
When  his  fearless  words  were  said  • 

Cruelly  they  fiercely  showered 
Stones  on  his  devoted  head. 

Bruised  and  bleeding  fell  the  hermit, 
Victor  in  that  hour  of  strife  ; 


SONGS  FOR   THE  PEOPLE.  69 

Gaining  in  his  death  a  triumph 
That  he  could  not  win  in  life. 

Had  he  uttered  on  the  forum 

Struggling  thoughts  within  him  born, 

Men  had  jeered  his  words  as  madness, 
But  his  deed  they  could  not  scorn. 

Not  in  vain  had  been  his  courage, 
Nor  for  naught  his  daring  deed  ; 

From  his  grave  his  mangled  body 
Did  for  wretched  captives  plead. 

From  that  hour  Rome,  grown  more  thoughtful, 
Ceased  her  sport  in  human  gore; 

And  into  her  Coliseum 
Gladiators  came  no  more. 


SONGS  FOR  THE  PEOPLE. 

Let  me  make  the  songs  for  the  people, 
Songs  for  the  old  and  young; 

Songs  to  stir  like  a  battle-cry 
Wherever  they  are  sung. 

Not  for  the  clashing  of  sabres, 
For  carnage  nor  for  strife  ; 


70  SONGS  FOE   THE  PEOPLE. 

But  songs  to  thrill  the  hearts  of  men 
With  more  abundant  life. 

Let  me  make  the  songs  for  the  weary. 
Amid  life's  fever  and  fret, 

Till  hearts  shall  relax  their  tension, 
And  careworn  brows  forget. 

Let  me  sing  for  little  children, 
Before  their  footsteps  stray, 

Sweet  anthems  of  love  and  duty, 
To  float  o'er  life's  highway. 

I  would  sing  for  the  poor  and  aged, 
When  shadows  dim  their  sight ; 

Of  the  bright  and  restful  mansions, 
Where  there  shall  be  no  night. 

Our  world,  so  worn  and  weary, 
Needs  music,  pure  and  strong, 

To  hush  the  jangle  and  discords 
Of  sorrow,  pain,  and  wrong. 

Music  to  soothe  all  its  sorrow, 
Till  war  and  crime  shall  cease ; 

And  the  hearts  of  men  grown  tender 
Girdle  the  world  with  peace. 


LET  THE  LIGHT  ENTER.  71 

LET  THE  LIGHT  ENTER. 

The  dying  words  of  Goethe. 

"  Light !  more  light !  the  shadows  deepen, 

And  my  life  is  ebbing  low, 
Throw  the  windows  widely  open  : 
Light !  more  light !  before  I  go. 

"  Softly  let  the  balmy  sunshine 
Play  around  my  dying  bed, 
E'er  the  dimly  lighted  valley 
I  with  lonely  feet  must  tread. 

"  Light!  more  light]  for  Death  is  weaving 

Shadows  'round  my  waning  sight, 
And  I  fain  would  gaze  upon  him 
Through  a  stream  of  earthly  light." 

Not  for  greater  gifts  of  genius; 

Not  for  thoughts  more  grandly  bright, 
All  the  dying  poet  whispers 

Is  a  prayer  for  light,  more  light. 

Heeds  he  not  the  gathered  laurels, 
Fading  slowly  from  his  sight ; 

All  the  poet's  aspirations 

Centre  in  that  prayer  for  light. 


72  AN  APPEAL   TO  MY  COUNTRYWOMEN. 

Gracious  Saviour,  when  life's  day-dreams 
Melt  and  vanish  from  the  sight, 

May  our  dim  and  longing  vision 

Then  be  blessed  with  light,  more  light. 


AN  APPEAL  TO  MY  COUNTRYWOMEN. 

You  can  sigh  o'er  the  sad-eyed  Armenian 
Who  weeps  in  her  desolate  home. 

You  can  mourn  o'er  the  exile  of  Russia 
From  kindred  and  friends  doomed  to  roam. 

You  can  pity  the  men  who  have  woven 
From  passion  and  appetite  chains 

To  coil  with  a  terrible  tension 

Around  their  heartstrings  and  brains. 

You  can  sorrow  o'er  little  children 

Disinherited  from  their  birth, 
The  wee  waifs  and  toddlers  neglected, 

Robbed  of  sunshine,  music  and  mirth. 

For  beasts  you  have  gentle  compassion ; 

Your  mercy  and  pity  they  share. 
For  the  wretched,  outcast  and  fallen 

You  have  tenderness,  love  and  care. 


AN  APPEAL   TO  MY  COUNTRYWOMEN.  73 

But  hark !  from  our  Southland  are  floating 
Sobs  of  anguish,  murmurs  of  pain, 

And  women  heart-stricken  are  weeping 
Over  their  tortured  and  their  slain. 

On  their  brows  the  sun  has  left  traces; 

Shrink  not  from  their  sorrow  in  scorn. 
When  they  entered  the  threshold  of  being 

The  children  of  a  King  were  born. 

Each  comes  as  a  guest  to  the  table 
The  hand  of  our  God  has  outspread, 

To  fountains  that  ever  leap  upward, 
To  share  in  the  soil  we  all  tread. 

When  ye  plead  for  the  wrecked  and  fallen, 

The  exile  from  far-distant  shores, 
Remember  that  men  are  still  wasting 

Life's  crimson  around  your  own  doors. 

Have  ye  not,  oh,  my  favored  sisters, 

Just  a  plea,  a  prayer  or  a  tear, 
For  mothers  who  dwell  'neath  the  shadows 

Of  agony,  hatred  and  fear? 

Men  may  tread  down  the  poor  and  lowly, 
May  crush  them  in  anger  and  hate, 


74  AN  APPEAL   TO  MY  COUNTRYWOMEN. 

But  surely  the  mills  of  God's  justice 
Will  grind  out  the  grist  of  their  fate. 

Oh,  people  sin-laden  and  guilty, 
So  lusty  and  proud  in  your  prime, 

The  sharp  sickles  of  God's  retribution 
Will  gather  your  harvest  of  crime. 

Weep  not,  oh  my  well-sheltered  sisters, 

Weep  not  for  the  Negro  alone, 
But  weep  for  your  sons  who  must  gather 

The  crops  which  their  fathers  have  sown. 

Go  read  on  the  tombstones  of  nations 
Of  chieftains  who  masterful  trod, 

The  sentence  which  time  has  engraven, 
That  they  had  forgotten  their  God. 

Tis  the  judgment  of  God  that  men  reap 
The  tares  which  in  madness  they  sow, 

Sorrow  follows  the  footsteps  of  crime, 
And  Sin  is  the  consort  of  Woe. 

FRANCES  E.  W.  HARPER. 


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